Poison
by Queen of Cheesecake
Summary: At the age of nineteen, Severus Snape is obsessed with Lily. However, he embarks upon a poisonous relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange...
1. Chapter 1

It was like a fever. Lily Evans haunted Severus Snape his every waking moment, and every minute he slept—if he did at all—was a dream of her red hair, her sweet face and those beautiful green eyes. The obsession followed him every step he took, and today it felt as thought he would drown.

This was the day that his beautiful, perfect Lily was to marry that arrogant bully James Potter. Naturally, Severus had not been invited; Lily had not spoken to him in almost three years. He had hoped she would have finally moved on from that, but if anything, her hatred for him had grown rather than lessened. The still-rational part of Severus's brain sometimes chipped in that perhaps it was _he_ who should have moved on, that it was ridiculous to still be obsessing over a woman with whom he had not spoken in years. Yet he still thought constantly of what could have been, what should have been.

Severus considered brewing himself a potion to clear his mind. Draught of Peace would shut out thoughts of Lily for a few hours at least. Yet a part of Severus did not want to shut out the thoughts. He felt as though he deserved to be tormented; that it was his fault entirely. He should never have called her a Mudblood. It was the influence of the group he went about with, the only others who had tolerated him. Perhaps if he had renounced that group it would be he who stood beside Lily at the altar today. He could imagine her now, radiant in a white dress that would bring out the delicate shade of peach in her complexion. Next to her stood Potter, though, cackling, "You can't have her, _Snivellus_"

The Dark Mark blazed on Severus's left arm insistently. It was a reminder of how far away from Lily he had drifted, yet she still burned his heart as the tattoo burned his arm. He could leave it no longer; he had work to do. He turned on the spot and Apparated to the Lestrange house, the Dark Lord's current base of operations.

The Dark Lord had gathered his Death Eaters together to witness the punishment of a blundering Death Eater: it was Rodolphus Lestrange himself. Severus hated it when this happened; he felt as though it was a complete waste of his time. Of course, he was careful to keep his mind closed while he thought this; otherwise it would be he who would be currently suffering the Cruciatus Curse if the Dark Lord discovered this thought. From the corner of his eye, Severus curiously surveyed Rodolphus's wife, Bellatrix. She was watching the torture with a kind of detached amusement, devoid of any empathy for the man she had married. Severus thought briefly how he would react if it were Lily being tortured. He fancied that he would feel the pain burning through him as though the tormentor's wand were aimed at his own body. He wondered how Bellatrix could just stand by and watch while her husband screamed for mercy.

When the Dark Lord lifted the curse, Bellatrix clapped her hands, leading a round of applause. "My Lord," she said, her voice caressing the words, "I can assure you that I will keep a tight rein on my useless husband and he will never err again."

"Very good, Bella," the Dark Lord responded.

"Anything for my master." Bellatrix bowed deeply, displaying her full submission. Severus found it sickening, the unctuous displays of respect. Of course, this was another thought that he kept firmly locked with Occlumency, and he himself knelt before the Dark Lord when it was required.

He thought of the contrast between Bellatrix and Lily. Both were great beauties, though in different ways. Bellatrix was regal, exotic and sharp where Lily was pretty, blithe and a true English rose. Both laughed, though Bellatrix's was harsh with cruelty and Lily's had once filled Severus with a joy he knew he could never recapture. Both women had stood there and allowed a man to be tortured: Bellatrix had idly watched her husband scream, while Lily had plunged Severus into this world of twisted torment when she alone had the power to save him. The difference there was that Rodolphus had no doubt done nothing to hurt Bellatrix except by not being the Dark Lord, whereas Severus knew that if he had chosen his words better, Lily would still be in his life.

He watched the way Bellatrix reacted to her husband. Rodolphus was shaking and sobbing, but Bellatrix started to laugh.

"Pathetic," she snorted, "ruins the Dark Lord's plans then he can't even take his punishment like a man." She turned to face her husband. "You are a pathetic little piece of shit." Rodolphus turned whiter than ever, and began to shake harder than ever. Had he not been surrounded by fellow Death Eaters, Severus would have offered comfort; he pitied Rodolphus, and felt that he understood his plight.

The Death Eaters began to leave: they had borne witness to their fates if they were to blunder and must now carry out their own dark missions. The Dark Lord himself left; Severus often wondered what things could be so important that they could not be delegated to his core of followers. Severus himself was ordered to stay, to tend to Rodolphus. That was part of his role in the group: making sure Death Eaters were physically able to serve their master. His other function was more important, and a part that Severus enjoyed immensely: using his skill to discover novel forms of Dark Magic which could be of use. The Dark Arts were his first love, and he had discovered from a young age that he had a natural propensity for creating new spells and brewing potions of his own invention. This skill was valued greatly by the Dark Lord, and had bought him favour: already Severus had created a potion which could not be penetrated or Vanished, but only drunk at a great detriment to the drinker. It had pleased the Dark Lord hugely. Without Lily in his life, Severus felt that Dark Magic was the only thing worth living for.

Rodolphus was clearly in shock. Lily had once taught Severus an excellent Muggle cure for shock, one which far surpassed any magical remedy he had encountered. That was one of the things Severus missed most about the girl, her quick wit. She always joked that the Muggle cure for any problem was a cup of hot sweet tea. Severus had tried it before, and it accepted particularly graciously. So Severus produced a small flask of liquid that he carried with him always: a Calming Draught. It was practically useless to Severus: he had not yet found a potion that would stop his mind chattering with thoughts of Lily. It would help Rodolphus, although not as much as Lily's remedy.

Rodolphus sipped the liquid greedily, and the shaking slowly subsided. Severus prepared to make his excuses and leave: he would return to his study of the Dark Arts to try to distract himself from Lily.

"Leaving already?" Bellatrix sneered. Severus started, and he wondered how skilled the witch was at Legilimency.

"I have some important work to be done for the Dark Lord. Surely you won't want to incur his wrath by delaying me?" Severus's heart was pounding. He wondered how careful he had been in keeping his mind closed in Bellatrix's presence. He had not made eye contact; she could not know anything.

"Is that so?" Her dark eyes met Severus's. He forced himself to hold the gaze and shut his thoughts away. "I was under the impression that your role was a researcher of sorts. Nothing that couldn't possibly wait until later. Why don't you wait here? The Dark Lord himself will return soon. He is currently _attending _the Potter wedding. So many Mudbloods and blood traitors in one place!" Severus began to feel dizzy and sick, and struggled to appear pleased by this information. It was more than his own life was worth to betray his true feelings now.

"Good news, indeed," he replied, hoping that Bellatrix would not detect the shake in his voice. He made an effort to change the subject, commenting upon how much better Rodolphus looked. The anxiety began to fade, and Severus felt that as long as he kept the conversation away from Lily, he would be saved. He struggled to silence thoughts that he should warn Lily—if only he knew where she was!—and instead made a show of reeling off a list of potions which could reinvigorate Rodolphus.

"Be silent," Bellatrix commanded sharply. "I know full well you desire the Mudblood Lily Evans."

Severus had never felt more frightened in his whole life.


	2. Chapter 2

How could Bellatrix have discovered the secret that Severus had worked so hard to hide? Was it possible she had read his mind? Perhaps she was merely probing. If that were the case, then Severus knew he had just betrayed himself with his own reaction. He remained silent; he could not think of anything to say that would alleviate the situation. Bellatrix stared, challenging him to speak, but still no words came.

"What would the Dark Lord say if he knew that one of his little _favourites_ was lusting after a Mudblood, I wonder?" Her voice was gleeful. Severus had heard her taunt others before, and knew she took joy in the misfortune of others. He worried for himself. "I think he would probably be disappointed at your disloyalty. We both know what the Dark Lord does when he's disappointed." Bellatrix gestured to her husband coldly. Rodolphus made no response; he stared at some fixed point in the middle distance, studiously ignoring the conversation.

Finally, Severus found words: "Please... no..." He was immediately annoyed at himself for the weakness in his voice, the weakness of the words. Appearances were everything among Death Eaters, especially when dealing with Bellatrix Lestrange. It was as though Severus had willingly thrown himself at her mercy, and he shuddered to think what the cruel bitch would do.

When Lily Evans smiled, her face lit up with beauty. When Bellatrix Lestrange smiled, it was a terrible sight. Severus knew in that moment that he would not be handed over to the Dark Lord or murdered: it would be something much worse. He would become indebted to this unhinged tyrant.

"Prove to me that you do not want that dirty Mudblood. Prove to me you desire purebloods, as is natural." Her voice had become hard and authoritarian, yet Severus could not comprehend what it was that she commanded.

"How shall I do that?"

"You stupid little fool! There is but one way to demonstrate your desire for a pureblood woman, of one of the old families." Suddenly, Severus understood everything. His eyes flicked to Rodolphus, still staring at nothing, though his face looked tighter now as if he was trying to hide anger. "Perhaps you desire a pureblood _man_ instead," Bellatrix taunted, following Severus's gaze. "He is useless, though. Barely a man at all. Follow me."

Severus obeyed, and found himself led through the palatial building to the master bedroom. On the wall were two crests: Lestrange and Black, side by side. A vast four-poster bed hung with black velvet curtains dominated the room, and it was here that Severus was instructed to undress and lie down. He began to tremble, afraid of everything that could possibly happen in this situation. He knew that he needed to be able to perform, though he did not feel that there was anything remotely erotic about the situation. Severus had never done this before, never wanted to do this with anyone but Lily, yet he must now satisfy Bellatrix or the consequences would be dire.

Lying naked upon the silk sheets, Severus had never felt so vulnerable. Bellatrix leered at his body.

"Skinny little wretch. Small, too." Severus instinctively moved to cover himself, but was stopped by a harsh shout. He watched as the witch began to disrobe, and appreciated that if his heart did not belong entirely to Lily, he would be wildly attracted to Bellatrix. She was a beauty: long dark hair cascaded over her olive shoulders, stopping just short of her pert, round breasts. Involuntarily, Severus began to feel himself awaken down below. "You like this? I bet an ugly little worm like you has never seen a woman undress before—except maybe your mother?" She was absolutely naked now, edging closer to Severus. His heart still pounded, yet it was now with desire rather than fear.

He reached out to touch this enchantress, and she slapped his face hard.

"You do not touch me. You will do as _I _say." Admonished, Severus lay back, feeling a flash of burning hatred towards the poisonous woman standing over him. Bellatrix was truly cruel, truly violent and yet Severus desired her more than ever as she eyed him with a look of something bordering on disgust.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity, ashamed at his own willingness, his own desperation for Bellatrix. He heard his own voice begging again, and her harsh laugh. And finally she obliged, sitting upon Severus and stealing his virginity.

* * *

Severus Snape's usual policy towards personal hygiene was to wash as little as possible. He did not like the feeling of the water on his skin, nor did he feel as though grooming products were a necessary expense. It was the first time in his life that he had actually actively desired to bathe, to be clean, to wash Bellatrix from his skin. 

For hours, Severus had felt intoxicated, as though he had been drugged or poisoned somehow. A dizzying high, a sensation that he was somehow separated from the real world, as if there were no real world at all. The state subsided when he left the Lestrange house and returned to Spinner's End. There, he was reminded once again of Lily—how could he have ever allowed her to slip from his mind? She would be Lily Potter now: he dimly recalled the Dark Lord's anger that the wedding had been protected so strongly. While she was saying her vows, Severus had been begging Bellatrix Lestrange to fuck him. It was not the devotion Lily deserved, and it made Severus feel sick.

He turned the rusty taps, and filled the grimy bathtub with a few inches of water. For the second time that day he stripped, employing Occlumency techniques to avoid thinking of what had happened earlier. The water was cold, but Severus appreciated the feeling of it against his skin. He scrubbed the sallow flesh until it turned pink, yet he still did not feel clean.

All the while, he thought of Lily and his betrayal. He had once sworn to himself to remain pure for her, so that when she came to her senses and left James, he would devote himself to her entirely. Now he felt dirty, tainted by Bellatrix. Were Lily to touch him now, he was sure that she would be harmed or burned by the imprint Bellatrix had left upon his skin.

He had Bellatrix to blame; she had forced him. She had perhaps somehow enchanted him: Severus knew she was a powerful witch who had learned certain Dark Magic from the Dark Lord himself. Severus did not care to rationalise, though. All he knew was that he hated Bellatrix. Hated her as much as he loved Lily, for it was her fault that he would now never be pure for the woman he loved.

For the first time, Severus thought to Rodolphus, the man with whom he had earlier empathised. Guilt overflowed, and Severus vowed that one day he would make amends, though he did not know how. Lily would. Another pang of grief for love lost.

Severus wondered who he hated most: himself, Bellatrix or Lily?


	3. Chapter 3

Bellatrix Lestrange was a vile woman, and every time Severus saw her, he thought he hated her a little more. He hated her cruelty, the way she would cheerfully maim and murder. He hated the way she behaved towards the Dark Lord: like the worst kind of sycophant, yet also like a little girl with a crush. He hated the way she treated her husband like a house-elf. He hated her haughty manner, her proud face, her dark hair, her long nails. He hated breathing the same air as her, existing on the same planet as her.

And yet, when she sent for him, he came eagerly. She would demand his presence, and he would rush to satisfy her. For during those times, he could lose himself for minutes, hours even. There would be no Lily, there would be no Severus. His urges would take over and he would fuck the woman he hated so. She would often hurl abuse, but Severus did not care. What she said was _true._

"Pathetic, dirty little scumbag. Even a Mudblood won't love you. You're disgusting."

Other times, she would sit astride him and rant about her own merits. "I am a pureblood woman, worth far more that your Mudblood bitch. I am the Dark Lord's favourite, his most skilled witch." When she talked like this, Severus would always enjoy feeling slightly victorious: he was marring her pureblood body with his half-blood cock.

Sometimes she would hurt Severus, with slaps, with bites, scratching until she drew blood. Physical pain did not bother him: in fact, he found he quite enjoyed it, and would beg for more, or deliberately aggravate Bellatrix to force her into a rage.

Afterwards the effect was always the same, and Severus would find himself scrubbing furiously at his skin, feeling depraved and dirty, hating himself and hating Bellatrix. Yet he was addicted, and every time he was summoned, he would oblige.

* * *

The Lestrange house had an electric atmosphere. The Dark Lord was busy barking out orders: he had received information about the movements of the Order of the Phoenix and an attack was planned. Severus thought briefly of Lily, hoped that she would not be among those who his affiliates would slaughter. On the other hand, he hoped very much that James Potter would be present, that he would be murdered brutally and painfully. Severus wished that he was invited on the sortie; he would be able to ensure both the safety of the woman he loved and the death of the man he hated. It was not to be, however, the Dark Lord did not believe that Severus's combat skills were acceptable.

Severus did not know quite how this was possible: he was well aware that he was much better at duelling than Avery, or MacNair, or Travers. However, the Dark Lord's word was law, and Severus knew better than to question the will of his master. In due course, he would have the chance to prove himself.

"My lord, when will we stage the attack?" asked Bellatrix, caressing the words tenderly as if she lay with the Dark Lord upon a bed of rose petals. Severus felt a burning flash of hatred towards the woman.

"_You_ are not joining us, Bella," he answered, contempt clear in his voice, "I do not recall mentioning your name. Do you?"

Severus fought the urge to laugh as Bellatrix looked crushed, as though her world had abruptly ended. "I am sorry, master. I merely assumed-"

"You do not assume!"

Idly, Severus wondered what Bellatrix may have done to fall from the Dark Lord's favour. Perhaps it was because she was married to Rodolphus, still disgraced. Perhaps it was nothing at all and the Dark Lord merely had a new favourite for the time being. That would happen sometimes: Severus knew it all too well. When he had created that evil green potion, the Dark Lord had rewarded him handsomely. Now, like Bellatrix, he was redundant and useless.

The raiding party left. Bellatrix appeared to regain her usual attitude, arrogant and regal, though Severus believed that she was still hurt. The thought gave him satisfaction: if anybody deserved to suffer, it was her. The large hall quickly began to empty, Death Eaters Disapparating to return to their own duties, or their own leisure. Severus should have returned, but he chose to stay. He told himself it was because he wished to be present when the Dark Lord returned, for news of the raid. To see if Lily were alive and well.

No, to gloat at the death of the Mudblood sympathisers.

There was another reason, deeper, that Severus could barely bring himself to think. He hoped that Bellatrix would be angry enough by the Dark Lord's rejection that she would wish for a form of distraction. Severus would taunt her as he fucked her, in the hope to enrage her.

Soon, there were four people left in the Lestrange house: Severus, the Lestranges and Evan Rosier, one of Severus's gang from Hogwarts. It was far from ideal; Severus would have preferred Rodolphus and Rosier's absence, though he knew that Bellatrix had no qualms about taking what she wanted, no matter who was present. If she wanted Severus, she would ask.

He shut the thought away. He was present to discover the success of his fellow Death Eaters, and nothing more. The Dark Lord would return within hours with blood upon his hands and he would be triumphant. If Severus were present, he would perhaps regain favour. And he would know whether his dear Lily had survived. He felt sure she would, such a skilled witch.

"Still here, Snape," Bellatrix growled.

"Of course," he replied silkily, "I would like to greet the Dark Lord when he returns, as I'm _sure you're_ anxious to, as well." The words were barbed, laden with a meaning he knew she would understand. She frowned, almost imperceptibly, and Severus felt another stab of satisfaction.

"Evan," Bellatrix snapped, clicking her fingers at Rosier, "follow me."

Severus watched with utter horror as Rosier grasped Bellatrix's hand, and the pair disappeared from the room together. He was horrified at his own reaction: he had never hated anyone, not even James Potter, as much as he hated Bellatrix at that moment. The hatred, however, was tinged with another emotion, one with which Severus was all too familiar: jealousy. He was jealous that the woman he despised was about to bed somebody who wasn't him.

Severus fought to suppress the tide that was rising up inside himself. _Shut out everything_. Basic Occlumency practice.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" muttered Rodolphus.


	4. Chapter 4

"I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to," Severus replied, impressed with the evenness of his own tone. If he denied it, it would be like it had never happened, that nothing was happening now.

"Yes you do," Rodolphus replied bitterly. "I'm not bloody stupid, and it's not as if you've been discreet. _She_ never is. You, Regulus, Evan, Rabastan,_my own brother_. She's a cold heartless bitch, is Bellatrix. An irresistible bitch." A cold laugh, utterly devoid of any humour. "I'm going to tell you something, Severus, and it's mostly because I actually happen to _like_ you."

Severus thought back to those days back at Hogwarts. Rodolphus had been a few years older, and had taken Severus under his wing, introduced him to people from the old families and their ideologies. He had been a friend. _But then, so had Lily._

"If I were you," Rodolphus continued, "I'd stay well away from Bella. She's poison. She'll twist you up and you'll love her and you'll hate her and you won't know the difference between the two anymore. You'll become more and more like_ her_."

"Thank you, Rodolphus," Severus said coldly. He was thinking, now, of other times he had taken Rodolphus's advice: "Get away from that Mudblood girl, she's bad news." Severus had not heeded it at the time, he did not think that his friendship with Lily could ever be bad. But somewhere along the lines, he had absorbed some of the rhetoric of his Slytherin friends, and insulted his Lily...

"She's absolutely loopy, is Bellatrix," Severus wished that Rodolphus would just shut up, and was seriously considering a silencing charm. He was past caring about Bellatrix, he _knew _she was a bitch; his concerns were much more profound. Lily, his lost love. "D'you know why? Desperately wants a kid—not for the normal reasons that women want babies, you know, the soppy ones—no, Bella wants sons to serve the Dark Lord. Thinks that's the most important thing in the world, producing pureblood disciples."

"_I_ happen to think that creating a pure bloodline _is_ something which is of utmost priority." Severus felt a twinge of glee as Rodolphus coughed and quickly explained that that was _exactly_ what he meant. In such an atmosphere of distrust, it was imperative that one held the correct views.

"Well anyway, Bellatrix just can't seem to get pregnant. Apparently, it's _my_ fault. Yet none of her other little playmates seem to be able to do the deed. Funny, that. Why was I telling you all this, anyway? Oh yes, so it drives her mad. Well, madder than she was anyway. Madder than the rest of us. But we're all mad here." Rodolphus began to laugh, a strange wheezing sound that would not stop. He threw back his head and roared, his body convulsing.

Bellatrix returned, followed by Evan Rosier, and Severus joined Rodolphus in laughter. He was not entirely sure why: perhaps to appear that he had been having a wonderful time sitting with Rodolphus (who, Severus was quite sure, had never behaved as erratically at school), or perhaps at the ridiculousness of the situation. Certainly, the laughter was in part genuine, and hard to stop once it had begun. They sounded like madmen, and perhaps they were.

Then came the Dark Lord, furious, followed by a contingent of Death Eaters, each looking utterly disappointed and disheartened.

"Misinformation! The Potters sowed misinformation. They were not there!" The Dark Lord spat a tirade against the Order of the Phoenix. Severus allowed himself a brief moment of relief, sweet relief that his Lily had never been in any danger. Indeed, she had defied and outmanoeuvred the Dark Lord himself! And then, a calculated look of deep-seated outrage that such a thing could possibly occur. He saw an opportunity, then, to gain favour, to rise above the other Death Eaters.

"My Lord," he began, "may I possibly suggest a method of determining the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore and his cronies which has not yet been discussed?"

"Speak."

"I do not suggest an oversight on your part by any means. Rather, our current mishaps are probably more closely related to incompetence and a degree of over-zealousness on the part of some of your followers." He hedged his words to avoid offending his master. It would do no good to anger the Dark Lord. "When we engage with the Order of the Phoenix, their members are murdered. I propose that it would serve us better to capture them, and glean vital information. I can brew Veritaserum for that purpose, certainly, for I find it is somewhat more effective than any information extracted under torture."

A moment of silence, and Severus was overwhelmed by anxiety. As he spoke the words, he realised how obvious the plan had sounded, as though there may be a good reason why such a plan was not in effect. And then high, cold laughter.

"This _had_ occurred to me, Snape," he said, and Severus felt an icy chill descend upon him. "However, you are correct in your assessment. Some of our number do indeed lack the necessary discipline to capture, rather than kill. Is that not correct, Bellatrix?"

Bellatrix hung her head and looked ashamed. So _that_ was why she was out of favour at the moment. Severus felt a brief flash of triumph, which was quelled as she shot him a gaze so full of hate that it was almost material.

"So, Snape, how do you propose we instil discipline in the ranks?" The question sounded almost academic, like a teacher addressing a pupil.

"I suspect, master, that those who understand that it is your desire will obey your orders unquestioningly. Those who lack the basic comprehension skills should be prepared to accept the consequences and _listen_."

More laughter from the Dark Lord. Severus felt the tension lift somewhat. He had not offended his master, and could possibly have risen in his estimation. Bellatrix looked as though she had been sucking lemons. _Good,_ thought Severus.

* * *

Late that night, Severus hunched over his cauldron. He had dedicated a room in Spinner's End to his potioneering endeavours, and it was the only room in the house which was clean and orderly. It _had_ to be, for contamination of a potion was unacceptable. Veritaserum was an especially complex mixture, and even a mote of dust could throw off the balance and leave one with a liquid which was not completely unacceptable to the drinker.

He allowed himself to reflect upon the day's events, something which he normally shut out as the effect would tend to be uncontrollable anger or uncontrollable sobbing. The heat of the room soothed him, though, and perhaps the fumes of the brewing potion encouraged a kind of honesty to himself, about himself.

First, Lily, and how glad he was she was safe, yet how disappointed he was that James, too, was alive and well. As were Black, Lupin and Pettigrew. How he wished that they could perish and he could pick up the pieces and perhaps he and Lily would one day become husband and wife. He would gladly defect, and they would live together, in happy neutrality. Though that would never be, for he knew the depth of Lily's hatred. It was a poison absorbed from Potter and his friends, though one which would never leave Lily.

Without Lily, his only option was to be successful within the life he had chosen, and today had allowed that to begin. He was brewing this potion on the Dark Lord's orders. He was pleased the Dark Lord had agreed with his assessment, and believed wholeheartedly that it would buy him favour.

The potion was beginning to turn paler and paler. Perfectly produced Veritaserum, he thought proudly.

Bellatrix. Severus finally allowed himself to dissect his conversation with Rodolphus—the ramblings of a man beginning to turn insane, he thought. Yet Severus was disgusted with himself for the jealousy he had felt when she had selected Evan Rosier as a lover; even more disgusted with the revelation that there were many others. For making him feel this, Severus despised Bellatrix more than he had ever thought possible, more, even, than James Potter.

He fantasised about taunting her with Rodolphus's revelation that she was barren, how she would become enraged, or perhaps, better still, begin to cry. He hoped so. He wanted her to hurt. He wondered if she was already upset, that he had received the Dark Lord's esteem in her place. How Severus hoped so.

He gave no heed to what Rodolphus had said about how Bellatrix would twist people until they became like her.


	5. Chapter 5

Owls began arriving frequently, yet Severus paid them no heed. Each day he would receive more, demanding his immediate presence at the Lestrange house. Yet Severus ignored them: he had absolutely no intention of seeing Bellatrix. A part of him felt smug about the increasingly frantic demands, though he knew she would just get what she wanted elsewhere. Maybe from Evan Rosier. Maybe from Rabastan Lestrange. Maybe even from her husband. All Severus knew was that it would not be him, for he loathed Bellatrix as he loathed no other.

Yet during that time, Severus felt strangely satisfied. He worked at brewing potions which could aid the Dark Lord in his quest for information: Veritaserum and other, crueller potions which were more subtle than any physical torture. Those which forced the drinker to relive his worst memories or hallucinate a dark, dreadful future. The most deadly poisons of all, perhaps, as they acted not upon the body, but upon the mind.

He did not think of the malice they would inflict, but rather of the pleasure of their creation. Potion-making was an art form: one mistake and everything would be ruined. Severus did not make mistakes with potion-making. He had an instinctual grasp of what was correct, a skill which he lamented did not extend to other areas in his life. Bellatrix and Lily, both disasters. His potions, however, were perfect, and Severus gave a smile as he watched the mixture turn from purple to green.

Such satisfaction did not, and could not last. The Dark Lord wished to test Severus's creations, and he entrusted the potioneer himself with the task. Severus did not shy from this duty: indeed, he revelled in the chance to prove himself. It was a biting cold December night that he entered the Hog's Head; Severus chose this location as anybody captured would be unlikely to be immediately missed. It was a pub full of misfits who were all the better to function as test subjects. He scanned those present: solitary, lonely drunks, propping up the bar. Any one of these would do.

And then Severus's luck changed as through the door walked none other than Albus Dumbledore, the one who the Dark Lord sought to vanquish. Severus felt his pulse race. At the very least, he could possibly gain valuable information. At best, he would be able to capture the headmaster and therefore win eternal favour with his master. Dumbledore was accompanied by a weird-looking woman with huge glasses and lots of scarves. She did not look capable of fighting if it were necessary.

The odd pair headed upstairs, and Severus shuddered with disgust. Could the Hogwarts headmaster _really_ be taking this woman upstairs for some kind of furtive shag? Despite the revolting mental image, Severus slipped away from the bar and followed. Listening through the door, it soon became apparent that the woman was having a job interview—and was not particularly successful. Nonetheless, Severus listened carefully to the words, struggling to search for some kind of code. And then the woman's voice changed, and the tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew beyond a doubt that this was a prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies-" Severus heard no more, for rough hands grabbed him, pulled him away. The revolting barman, he smelt of goats and stale beer. Severus struggled in his grasp to no avail.

Dumbledore stood before him, his eyes scanning Severus studiously. Severus heard the blood pounding in his ears, and forced himself to close his mind. _The mind is a box, and I have locked it and swallowed the key. _

"Good evening, Severus. What brings you here?"

The last time Severus had seen his headmaster, he had begged for a job and had been rebuked. It was this that inspired his lie. "I thought I might ask you for the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. I expect you'll probably have to find a new teacher for September anyway."

"I suppose Lord Voldemort does not pay a decent wage," Dumbledore replied. His gaze almost burned Severus. _My mind is a locked box._

"One might say that."

"Very well. I strongly advise you not to pass on any details of this meeting to your master. You may not foresee any potential dangers. Needless to say, you are unsuccessful in your application for a teaching post. You are free to go."

The threat in Dumbledore's words played upon Severus's mind as he was escorted downstairs and out of the door. It was clear that the old man knew what Severus had heard and was giving a thinly veiled warning. He wondered why? To whom did the danger apply? To Dumbledore himself, of course, Severus thought. As his anxiety subsided, this became more obvious: that the information was important, and Dumbledore's reticence for it to be passed to the Dark Lord was proof of this. It was such a cryptic hint, though, and something about its delivery chilled Severus, and he wondered if in fact the dangers could apply to himself, that perhaps telling the Dark Lord about a possible child born to destroy him could ultimately lead to Severus's own destruction. He knew it would anger his master greatly...

He was interrupted from his assessment of the situation by being bodily grabbed for the second time that night. This time, he was dragged to the alley behind the grotty pub. Fingernails sharp through Severus's robes, and he recognised the scent immediately: sharp, like citrus. Irresistable. _Her._

It had been the first time in weeks that he had seen Bellatrix, and she was beautiful and terrible in her anger. Severus realised that neither his hatred nor his desire had dampened in this period: if anything, it had intensified.

"Why have you not taken a captive?" she hissed. "I was sent by the Dark Lord because he didn't think you'd be up to it. He was right." She looked at Severus, and a flicker of triumph crossed her face. "Ah! You have something much better for him, I see! A prophecy. Tell me what it says."

Severus had always suspected that Bellatrix may have some level of skill in Legilimency, but nothing so refined. He was horrified at himself for not applying adequate levels of mental protection, so surprised was he by her appearance, and so attracted.

"I will not," he said.

"Tell me!" She was shrieking now, and Severus hoped that nobody would come. She withdrew her wand and he knocked it from her hand. A simple Muggle tactic which worked perfectly against people like Bellatrix who did not believe in such trickery. He was close, now, so close. He could feel her breath upon his cheek. He recalled his fantasy of taunting her, and thought how it would make a perfect distraction. The prophecy must be valuable information if Bellatrix was so desperate to know what it pertained to. He must tell the Dark Lord himself.

"I am not going to tell you, Bellatrix," he said coolly. "I know you simply want the information as you cannot produce a nice pureblood son to give to the Dark Lord. Barren bitch, pathetic. He does not want you, Bellatrix." He stopped, expecting tears, or rage. Something to allow him to turn and Disapparate.

Instead he heard peals of laughter. A harsh sound, like scraping the bottom of a cauldron. "Did you want to make me cry, Snape?" She spoke in a babyish, patronising voice. Severus looked at her face, and saw she was genuinely amused, and felt an intense rush of hate. He had no options, so he turned to his desire and pressed his mouth to her twitching lips in a hard kiss. He bit down until he tasted blood.

Power was intoxicating. Without the element of surprise, Severus was stronger than Bellatrix and easily pushed her against the wall, knocking over a dustbin. There he took her, hard and rough. She fought against him, slapping and biting, yet Severus could tell that she wanted him. He could feel his savage mistress nearing her climax, and was struck by the thought that he _would not let her enjoy this_.

And the spell was broken. He removed himself, smirked at her look of shock at his insolence, then turned on the spot and Apparated to the Dark Lord's side.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **Sorry for the slowness in updating. Alas, it's likely that this will become a habit, as I'm at uni again now. Once a fortnight at the very most, but hopefully I'll be able to crank out once a week.

* * *

Bartemius Crouch was royally jealous of that greasy bastard Snape; he sat to the right of the Dark Lord, advising upon strategy. This was a place that Barty dearly wished to be, and resolutely hoped that Snape would quickly fall from grace. The other Death Eaters seemed to have at least a grudging respect for him, though all Barty felt he got was contempt as the youngest and newest of the Death Eaters: Regulus Black had been younger than he, and possibly even less respected, but he had disappeared without a trace. Useless. Still, it meant that there was less competition for Barty's route to the top. He _would_ one day be that right-hand man, and Snape would be relegated to shining his shoes.

There was another thing that inflamed Barty's envy: for some reason that dirty little git had managed to work his way into the affections of the most beautiful of the Death Eaters. They were hardly subtle. Barty would see Snape whispering into Bellatrix Lestrange's ear, his hooked nose almost scraping that elegant neck. It made him sick to think that that pureblood princess could possibly be seduced by such a disgusting specimen. He wanted her for himself and vowed that he would have her.

As a young boy, his father had taken him to visit wizards in Haiti. They were far more open in their magic, yet used a primal form. Barty used it now, for he knew not any other kind of magic which would bring down Severus Snape. He had created an effigy and each night he took a pin and stabbed its heart. He did not know if it would work, yet he hoped with all of his soul that it would. Snape should not have this life; Barty felt he was far more deserving: far more loyal to the cause; more to offer his master; and most of all, more worthy of Bellatrix.

While Barty twisted himself up in envy, Severus Snape felt a kind of numbness. Gone was the self-hatred sparked by his affair with Bellatrix: since the night he had heard the prophecy their dynamic had changed. He fought back now, and she was an outlet for all of his negative feeling. Of course, she returned the sweet pain he doled out and he craved it. But now he held a degree of power, so he could control when he received it. He did not allow himself to examine how he felt about this. It was happening, and that was that.

He had expected to feel more joy at becoming the new favourite of Voldemort. The Dark Lord greatly valued the words, and included Severus in every discussion about the prophecy. Severus's natural intelligence was highly prized, for discovering to whom the prediction referred was an intellectual challenge.

"There is a possibility, my lord, that it _may _refer to a child born in September," Severus suggested, to the awe of his peers. "However, I suspect it is more likely that it means July. With prophecies, though, one can never be too careful." He thought of the Muggle story of Macbeth, his father's favourite, with these words in mind: a man who had blindly fulfilled a prophecy, thinking that he was invincible—his actions leading to his demise. Of course he would never mention this in the company of the Death Eaters: it would mean admitting to knowledge of Muggle literature, which could lead to an examination of his roots. Additionally, he did not feel the Dark Lord would take kindly to any kind of accusation of arrogance.

"I think the first thing we need to do is discover those who have defied our master three times," he continued. "However insignificant such challenges may be. We cannot afford to overlook a single candidate. Then we must discover if any of them are having children in the near future. Our next move, of course, is entirely the decision of our master."

The Dark Lord laughed his approval—a high, cold sound which chilled Severus to the bone. He was the favourite now, and yet he did not feel the satisfaction he had expected, only numbness.

Later, Bellatrix took him to one side and whispered disparaging words:

"Little favourite, you'll fall from grace soon enough. The Dark Lord changes like the wind, and soon I will be sitting by his side again."

Severus laughed in her face, "Maybe so," he said, "but I know it hurts you that it's me up there, as I have _exactly _what you want."

Anger flashed across her face, and Severus wanted her more than anything. She grabbed his wrist and dug her nails deep into the soft flesh. Severus revelled in the pain. _I want you_, he screamed in his mind, staring into her eyes—he had once thought them as black as his, but they were the deep indigo of the belladonna berry. Many uses for that berry in potion-making, and none positive: by itself a deadly poison, combined with other ingredients it could destroy the mind entirely.

"Not now, Severus," she said, in a cloyingly sweet, patronising voice, "how will you stay successful if you only think with your cock?"

Frustrated, Severus turned away. He still despised her. He still desired her. He would not think of it. It was nothing. At that moment, it was everything.

Wand in hand, he turned back to his tormentor, thinking the incantation, _Imperio_

"Are you attempting to control me?" Bellatrix hissed. Her eyes lit up with fury at his insolence. "Do you really want to fuck me that desperately?"

Was it a sexual yearning or a desire for control? Severus himself was not sure, though he berated himself for his idiocy. A woman as strong-willed as Bellatrix would easily throw off his curse. As with his other great regrets—like losing Lily!—the cause had been acting in haste.

"Using the Imperius Curse to get laid," she continued, "you're an ugly little bastard, but resorting to mind control?" She shook her head. Severus wanted to slap her face till her cheeks became red. He burned with shame at what he had done, and now there was something in her tone of voice that reminded him of how Potter and his cronies had spoken. A kind of arrogance mingled with contempt, which made Severus feel simultaneously wounded and furious. It almost invariably provoked him to withdraw his wand and resort to violence.

Yet a part of his mind told him he was above that. Potter had simply laughed in his face when he was goaded to jinx, and he knew that Bellatrix would do the same. A better path would be to use his superior intellect, though he had no idea of Bellatrix's weak points. Insults that would make a normal person weep, those aimed at things that should be her deepest insecurities did nothing. Words could not hurt her, and neither could physical pain.

Disinterest. It had certainly annoyed her, though Severus was not sure he could renounce the exquisite pleasure she bought him. He hated Bellatrix for the hold she had, for his complete willingness to submit. He turned his back with a great reluctance and felt a sharp burst of self-loathing, an emotion which he had not experienced for weeks, since that night at the Hog's Head.

"Wait," she whispered, her breath hot in his ear. "Master bedroom, now."

He opened his mouth for a scathing refusal, but no sound came; a swift nod of the head, and he followed her up the great staircase. It was an obsession, an addiction, a hateful dependence.

She was violent, more so than usual, and drew blood with her teeth, with her nails, with a whip. Severus relished in the pain; he believed it was deserved for his weakness. Then he fought back, realising his hatred for Bellatrix. He bit her lips and tasted the bitter tang of her blood, and he fucked her until his cock was sore.

A sweet merciful release from his own mind for a while, but afterwards, as he lay breathing raggedly, the feeling of shame crept back. She smirked at him, licked a drop of blood from her mouth—was it hers or Severus's? He could not tell, and did not like to think of how their blood had mingled and he had delighted in it mere minutes before.

A high cold laugh rang from downstairs.

"My master is happy," Bellatrix said, and for a second Severus could have sworn he saw joy in her eyes. That could not be so; the closest thing to a positive emotion that bitch showed was schadenfreude.

They dressed quickly and rushed to the Dark Lord's side. He made no sign to show he had noted their absence; indeed, many of the Death Eaters had been scattered about the house working upon projects of their own. Barty Crouch knew, though Severus never saw his hate-filled glare.

"We have a spy in the Order of the Phoenix at last," the Dark Lord said. "He brings us some very valuable information." Despite everything, Severus felt strangely proud. His idea had bought around useful results.

"Is it pertaining to Dumbledore?" Lucius Malfoy said with a bow so deep that his nose almost scraped the ground.

"Better. It refers to the prophecy. There are two of Dumbledore's followers who are pregnant with their blood-traitor whelps due to be born at the end of July."

"What are their names, my lord?" Bellatrix asked, her breathing quickening as it had not while Severus had been with her.

"You must not act without my orders, Bella."

"I shall not, master." A deferential bow.

"Good. The first couple are called Longbottom. A pair of Aurors. The others are the Potters themselves."

For a moment, the words did not sink in. And then it felt as though Severus's world had fallen apart in an instant.


	7. Chapter 7

A silent scream rose up inside Severus, and he battled with every ounce of his self-control to keep it that way. The Dark Lord must not know, or all would be lost. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out all over his body; a physical reaction to replace the thoughts he could not think, not in present company. Eyes burned into Severus: as he trembled, he could see the stares of Malfoy, of the Lestrange brothers, of that little shit Crouch. And there was Bellatrix, her red mouth twisted into a gleeful smirk.

He ran from the room, stumbling almost blindly and leaned, panting, against the great yew tree.

April was turning to May, and the sun was warm upon Severus's clammy skin. It made the cold sweat feel colder still; he was shaking, shivering as though it were still the very depths of winter.

Lily was in danger. It was his fault. All his fault. Dumbledore's warning echoed loudly in his mind now, and he wondered if the old man had known all along that Lily was pregnant. Whether he had or not, it did not detract from the fact that had Severus heeded those words, had he withheld the information from the prophecy, then Lily would be perfectly safe. He looked to the leaves of the tree, green as her eyes, yet loaded with a lethal toxin which could kill a man in minutes. Perhaps...

No, he needed to live, to save her.

This is what happens when one locks all of one's emotions away in the locked box of the mind: the pressure builds, like steam, and it all comes screaming out in the end, with one quite unable to think clearly.

And now anger, rising fury, at the old man, at his red-headed love, and at JAMES POTTER for this. James Potter's filthy hands upon Lily's pale body, filling her and implanting a child in her belly. WITH DUMBLEDORE'S BLESSING. It was not Severus after all, who had put Lily in danger. It was James Potter for sowing his spawn inside his poor, beautiful Lily. James Potter's child was the one to whom the prophecy referred, the one who the Dark Lord sought to destroy... and James had placed it in the woman who should belong to Severus.

He must rescue her, therefore. She must be saved somehow, and she would love Severus, her liberator.

Or she would not, for James Potter had poisoned her against Severus.

How to spare Lily, yet destroy James?

How to survive it all?

Severus wished for clarity. The trembling was subsiding now, yet he could not see a way to spare Lily—if indeed it was the _thing_ growing inside her to which the prediction referred—the Dark Lord would kill all who got in the way of his quest for domination, for immortality. He could not ask his master to save a Mudblood for that would betray his own heart utterly and put himself directly in the line of danger. Even as his mind whirled, Severus knew that this would not be wise.

That was what was wrong with Gryffindors: they would blindly fight with nary a thought for their own survival. Slytherins, on the other hand, will not simply blunder in; they will instead search for an appropriate course of action that will not end with their own demise. Even now, Severus appreciated this fact. His eyes flicked once again up the tree, and he admonished himself for ever considering ending his own life.

He would live, and his life would be with Lily.

Yet no matter how much Severus wracked his brains, he could see no way to achieve this. The fury and the horror he had previously experienced was now replaced by a sense of growing frustration. He could not simply _ask_ the Dark Lord. Nor could he waltz up to Lily and make a run for it with her: he had no idea where she was, and felt she would not take too kindly to it. At any rate, she still had that baby in her belly which would mean that every Death Eater in the British Isles would search for them. A message of warning would be too dangerous: it may betray Severus as a traitor, and it would most likely push James Potter into a protective role.

There was nothing.

And then _she_ came. Bellatrix. Severus had not given her a minute's thought as he brooded beneath the yew tree. Now he felt the familiar loathing, for himself and for the woman walking towards. Her gait was regal; she held herself erect and almost seemed to glide upon the grass. She had come to twist the knife, Severus expected. To taunt and to tease, when Severus needed the company of his own mind the most.

"Trying to think of a way to save your little Mudblood?" she asked. Her voice was harsh, her dark eyes shone with malevolence. Severus tightened his lips and refused to respond. "I told my lord that you had been ill today, and that was the reason for your sudden departure. I can help you."

She looked different somehow: Severus realised he had never seen her in daylight. In her house, heavy, dusty velvet curtains blocked out the sun. The result was striking: her long dark hair shone, and her skin became almost golden. A beacon of hope, she looked more beautiful than ever before. Had Severus's mind been working to anywhere close to its full capacity, he would not have seen a saviour. Desperation, however, can do strange things to a person:

"How?" he croaked.

The sun dipped behind a cloud, and cast a shadow upon Bellatrix's face.

"Beg me," she said. Her lips were twitching into that smirk that Severus hated so.

"You're lying."

"Perhaps I am," she cackled, "I'm sure you wouldn't mind risking that Mudblood's life to find out. But perhaps I know exactly what you need to do. After all, you have probably not found an acceptable option." She listed all the ideas Severus had thrown away. Her words pricked at him, and he hoped, in his mentally weakened state, that she could not read his thoughts. _My mind is a locked box once again. Everything I have thought is hidden away._

"How- how can you help."

"If you beg me, I will help."

"Please, Bellatrix." Severus was disgusted by the sound of his own voice, disgusted in himself for acquiescing to her demand. Yet it could be the only way to save Lily. He would not allow himself to consider the implications of indebting himself to Bellatrix. This would be for Lily's life.

"On your knees."

He obeyed. "Save her for me."

She laughed again; it was like the Dark Lord's laugh, cold and piercing. "Kiss my feet, Snape."

He did it for Lily.

"Good boy. Now, what will you do in return for my aid?"

"Anything." It was true. He loved Lily, and would not have her in any danger.

"Now get up, you look like a dog down there." Severus stood, and she leaned towards him. Her breath smelt of red wine. "Rabastan, Avery and Mulciber all keep Muggle women for _toys_. Tell your master you wish the same for the Potter woman, and he may spare her as a _reward_ for his little favourite."

It made sense, though the idea of pretending that he wanted his Lily for a slave was somewhat sickening. Now there was a way forward, though, Severus began to worry about the consequences with Bellatrix may be. She was certainly not helping due to an innate goodness: indeed, she was now in a very powerful position. If she were to tell the Dark Lord everything once he had followed her plan, he would be a dead man. If Severus ever went against Bellatrix, he knew she would tell the Dark Lord in a heartbeat.

"Are you grateful?" Her eyes burned into Severus, and he used all of his self-control to keep her out of his mind.

"I am."

"Show me," she replied, her lips moving closer to Severus's.

It was the last thing Severus wanted at that moment, but he knew he must now obey her every whim. He kissed her back, tasting the tang of wine. She pushed him backwards into the great trunk of the yew tree, ripping at his robes. The bark burned his back as Severus reminded himself that this was the only way to save himself and his Lily.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's notes: **Apologies for the lack of updates: I've just moved house to a place I like to call Grimmauld Place. I've spent the last week or so battling with the flat!

* * *

Time meant nothing to Severus. He knew an amount of it had passed, as day turned to night turned to day and turned again to night. It was punctuated by sitting among his fellow Death Eaters, barely attentive to their discussions and missions except when they pertained to Lily. Severus remembered clearly when he had forever indebted himself to Bellatrix by following her advice, and asking for Lily to be spared for his own play and pleasure. He recalled the bitter taste of those words falling from his dry mouth, although it seemed a lifetime ago. It seemed like yesterday.

The weeks—months?—were marked by paying Bellatrix for her aid, payment with his body. It was a chore which Severus had once relished, though now it was an unpleasant obligation to which he must abide or he and Lily would surely be murdered. Bellatrix seemed to love reminding him of this fact, and it made Severus burn with fury when she taunted with twisted smile.

Yet it was all for Lily, all he did. When James Potter was gone and she knew it had been Snape who saved her, they could begin a new life together.

When this would start, Severus could not guess for he knew not how long had passed since he had made this odious pact with the Dark Lord and his secret accord with perhaps the only person more malevolently unhinged than Lord Voldemort himself.

The fever had to break, and indeed it did one day in early August, around the great table; Severus was now seated upon his master's left, for Bellatrix, with her manoeuvring had taken the coveted right hand seat. This did not bother Severus in the slightest, for a successful career in the Dark Lord's service was no longer something which he desired in the slightest. The Dark Lord made an announcement which was a surprise to none.

"Two children were born at the end of July, and the prophecy must refer to one. My informant tells me one was to the Longbottoms and the other to the Potters. Which should I slay?"

"The Longbottom child, for he is a pure-blood and therefore more worthy of being the subject of the prophecy. Like you yourself, my lord," said Lucius Malfoy with an unctuous bow.

"Kill them both," Bellatrix cackled.

Severus spoke not. He had not processed much of the information, except that Lily was now a mother. He imagined the child; it would look like James, a small James Potter suckling at Lily like a parasite while its father stood and smirked.

"Your idea is certainly _cautious_, Bella," the Dark Lord said. "However, I believe that the Potter child is more dangerous. He was born on the thirty-first, while the other was on the thirtieth. We must plan his demise immediately, my loyal Death Eaters, for there will be much to do. Once the Potter child is dead, my dominion and immortality will be cemented eternally."

He raised his glass of red wine, and all present followed. Many were enthusiastic, while some seemed to doubt the necessity of murdering a baby. Severus raised his glass thinking of what would happen when James was dead—of the life he would share with Lily, without the child whom he imagined as looking exactly like James, but with Lily's startling emerald eyes.

The Death Eaters celebrated raucously, and he was handed another glass of wine by Bellatrix. Her long nails dug into his hand as she passed the glass. The wine tasted slightly sweet, oddly so, yet not unpleasant... nicer in fact.

Then the walls began to close in on Severus, roaring filled his ears and the world faded to black.

* * *

He awoke in a state of utter confusion. It was dark, and he had no idea where he was; whatever he was lying on was soft, so he concluded that it must be a bed. But where? Whose bed was it? It most certainly was not his own, for that was easily identifiable by the rusty springs poking through the mattress. How had he arrived here? Severus could not recall what he had been doing before he had appeared in this luxurious bed, with the unfamiliar scent of sweet perfume in the air. He concluded that he must have had a nasty accident and was perhaps in St Mungo's recuperating.

Severus was not alone: as he lay quietly, he became aware of breathing that was not his own, and then a female form materialised beside him.

"You've woken up, darling, I'm so pleased."

He turned blankly towards the source of the sound. The voice was familiar somehow—who was it?

"It's me, Lily. Don't you remember what happened? Oh, my poor darling."

Of course it was Lily! Severus's heart leapt, and he began to feel safe. But what had happened? He asked the question, and his own voice sounded somehow warped. As he focused on Lily's silhouette, he noticed that her hair was blowing, though he could not feel a breeze upon his skin.

"They—they came. James and the baby were killed, but you saved me. You're my hero. I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Lily," he whispered.

Tentatively, she lay on the bed next to Severus, and he breathed in her scent. He wished he could see her eyes clearly, though he knew it was her. Her hair was a little longer than it had been, and her face a little thinner, but it was definitely Lily. Severus thought he could hear glorious, angelic singing in the distance, and Lily's hair still moved. The sheer force of her beauty.

"May I kiss you?" she asked, quivering.

Severus did not answer, not with words, anyway. He cupped her face between in his long hands—Severus had always hated his spindly fingers, but tonight they looked somehow beautiful—and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss he had waited ten years for.

It was as sweet as he had imagined in his wildest dreams, and she returned it ardently. Her lips were soft, so soft that Severus felt as though he would fall into them entirely, though he would mind not a bit if he did. It was a place he would happily live his whole life, wrapped up with Lily.

Her robes slipped off her shoulder, almost luminously pale in the darkness, and Severus joyfully kissed the silky, exposed skin. He was rewarded by a little moan.

"Please, my love, more, more."

He kissed more, pulling back the robes to expose her sweet bosom, something which Severus had imagined since he was thirteen; the reality of it did not compare at all to what he had thought: it was glorious, pale and warm. He lapped at her nipples enthusiastically with an almost synaesthetic effect, for the taste made colours flash before his eyes, and Lily was illuminated as if by a flash of lightning.

"Make love to me, please," she gasped, and Severus obliged. He had never made love before: with Bellatrix it had always been a violent, unpleasant affair, though as he slipped inside Lily he got the feeling of two halves of the same soul being reunited at last. This was tender and loving, full of kisses and whispered confessions of adoration.

She whimpered, trembled and dug her nails into his back. The sensation was somewhat similar to... what? Something from _before_he found Lily and she found him. When Lily cried out he realised he had heard that sound before, with someone else.

The room began to seem more ordinary, now. Before, he had had the sensation of levitating a few inches above the bed, with his surroundings changing fluidly. Now he could see something on the wall, barely perceptible in the darkness: two crests, Lestrange and Black.

A rush of understanding, and Severus was afraid to look to Lily, yet that exquisite moment of pure happiness and love was evaporating swiftly. He knew now he would not see Lily's ginger hair curling over the pillow, nor would he see her green eyes half-closed in ecstasy. He pulled himself away from the woman's embrace as though he was slipping through mud: the air was viscous. Or the bitch had spiked his wine with some kind of poison to create visions.

And it was Bellatrix lying beside him. He could smell her bitter scent; his mouth tasted of her. He was sinking deep, deep into despair and deeper still into the mattress, an effect he attributed to whichever vile drug he had been administered. She laughed loudly, sensing his return to himself.

"Was it nice making love to your little Mudblood sweetheart?" She spat the words _making love_ as though they were a curse.

It was then that Severus knew he would have to concoct a new way to save Lily; that placing his trust in his fellow Death Eaters and his master would only lead to a tarnishing of his sweet, pure love. It was then that he decided he must seek aid from Albus Dumbledore.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: I have been going mad with the amount of work I've had to do lately. But here it is, the penultimate chapter of "Poison"! Sorry to keep everyone waiting, and hopefully the final update will come soon.

* * *

"Just once, that's all. I'd like to see her once," Severus bleated. He felt that his entire life had been spent deferring to others, pleading for favours and now was no different. 

"Severus, you know I cannot do that." The old man gazed at Severus, and the look of pity filled its target with bubbling resentment. He was risking his life for Lily, but could not even speak to her, just once. Even to see her beautiful face one more time, to see she was still real, not the illusion that Bellatrix had created.

"All I-"

"No," Dumbledore said firmly, "they are hidden well. I cannot risk it—I know you will not put her in any danger, as that's why you joined me. But information can be extracted, and I'm sure you understand that we cannot take that risk."

Numbly, Severus nodded.

"Good," Dumbledore continued, regaining the old sparkle in his eyes. This bothered Severus more, even, than the pity. How could one appear to be so cheerful in times like these? Perhaps it was purpose: Severus no longer knew what it was that he was fighting for or whose side he was on. He wanted to stay alive. He wanted Lily to stay alive—but the baby and James...

Severus had the feeling that Dumbledore saw the world in terms of good and evil, while Severus himself was a man constructed entirely of shades of grey. He knew he did not entirely subscribe to the notions of blood purity—that would be hypocritical. Likewise, if given the choice he would have never joined with Dumbledore: it was a surefire way to get oneself killed.

"Now, go back, Severus. Find me more information. I want to know who is passing on this information."

In the six months since he had joined Dumbledore, Severus had rather effectively avoided Bellatrix. There were two reasons for this. The first, and, in Severus's mind, more pragmatic, was that she was very adept at finding out information. Were she to discover such his betrayal, Severus was sure that his life expectancy would be counted in minutes. The second reason was one which Severus locked away and denied even to himself. However, it was probably even more true than the first: he was furious, revolted and ashamed by the deception she had created—how he had enjoyed it, how she had laughed as the tears stung his eyes. Every so often, she would catch his eyes and sneer, and Severus would be transported back to that moment where everything he had ever wished for had crumbled away.

Now he realised he would have to face her. She alone was closest to the Dark Lord, and would almost certainly be most likely to know who the spy was. However, to Severus it seemed almost easier to stroll up to the Dark Lord himself and say, "Dumbledore would like to know who the Order spy is." It was marginally safer to somehow discover the truth from Bellatrix, though the choice was similar to being hit with an Avada Kedavra or being Stunned into a pit of angry Manticores. The latter carried a very slight chance of survival, though it was infinitely less preferable.

Severus made a point of always carrying a vial of Veritaserum within his robes. It symbolised his role within the Death Eaters: more subtle than the others, yet with a better chance of obtaining useful results. He wondered how he could somehow administer it to Bellatrix—she would not touch any drink that he had prepared; she would be expecting some kind of retaliation. Neither did Severus fancy his chances if he attempted to force the liquid into Bellatrix's mouth: he knew he was an incredibly skilled wizard, but was realistic about the extent of his power. Bellatrix had quicker reflexes, was more brutal and so insane that she would not think twice about using a Killing Curse.

An elaborate deception was the only route—she would not touch a drink, yet Severus knew of another way to get something into her mouth: through a kiss. Though the notion of having those lips near his again disgusted Severus, he felt a plan forming. She loved to bite his lips and suck as she drew blood. If he could somehow suspend a small amount of Veritaserum on the inside of his lower lip, she could unknowingly dose herself, thinking she was expressing her power. There was a certain eloquence to this, and Severus found himself drawn to this idea for reasons not completely pragmatic. It appealed, too, to those emotions which he denied even to himself.

* * *

Severus watched as Bellatrix was waited upon by Bartemius Crouch. Pale as a ghost, the boy obeyed her every command, his eyes filled with lust. Bellatrix sneered, and Severus knew then that she had not yet allowed him to fuck her—she was driving the boy mad with longing, then she would break him down and tear him apart. 

He ran his tongue against the bubble of Gillyweed bonded to his lower lip. Contained within was Veritaserum, a potion to induce grogginess and a little of his own blood to disguise the taste. The Sluggish Solution was included as Severus did not underestimate Bellatrix's intelligence. He suspected she would quickly work out she had been given a truth potion and would become violent. Therefore, Severus needed the advantage.

His stomach twisted at the thought of making his approach. This was the closest he had been to Bellatrix in months, and he knew he would have to be closer still. Severus reminded himself that he was a skilled wizard, on an important mission which, if successful, would save Lily's life. This did not remove the pounding of his heart within his ears, the snaking sensation within. He was not trying hard enough, and this was a time where focus was necessary.

It was time. For the first time since her deception, Severus was alone in a room with Bellatrix. She looked at him with disgust.

"Surprised you can still bear to look at me," she taunted. White hot anger flashed through Severus, though he did not allow it to show.

"I was very angry," he said evenly. "But then I realised you were taking me on a _quest of the senses._" He rose now, moving ever closer to his mark. "I was grateful, so grateful." He could smell her now, so familiar. Appalling yet sensuous. "I've been waiting for the opportunity to tell you that I _still want you._" He whispered the last few words, and pressed the hardness within his robes against her thigh. Bellatrix's dark eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You are a filthy little pervert, Snape." She grabbed for what had been pressed insistently at her leg; Severus felt nothing. There was nothing within his Y-fronts but a limp dick; he had not expected he would ever want Bellatrix again, and this was proving to be correct. Ever the plotter, he had fashioned himself a prosthetic, to aid the deception. It was working exactly as he had hoped.

"Leave, little boy," she snapped suddenly, and Severus stepped back. "Not you," she sighed in exasperation, and gestured towards Crouch, who had slipped in with the figs Bellatrix had requested. The boy glared at Severus with pure, unmitigated hate.

Her mouth was moving closer, and Severus knew that soon she would unwittingly ingest the Veritaserum. Yet when their lips finally met, her kiss was sweet, almost gentle. It reminded Severus horribly of the kiss she had given as Lily—he told himself he was angry, though, because his plan was failing.

Without warning, her nails dug into Severus's wrists, and her teeth were sunk into the bubble of Gillyweed. She sucked intently at what she thought was a wound, then licked her lips as a little blood dribbled out. It would not take long for the truth potion to take effect, and the look on her face told Severus that she was not suspicious at all.

Bellatrix yawned softly and sat down upon her velvet-backed chair. The Sluggish Solution was working.

"Tell me, Bellatrix, do you really love your husband?"

"Of course not. The man's a complete idiot, and if he had had a drop of Mudblood in him, I would have happily murdered him."

It was not a good test question; Bellatrix would have probably given this answer with Veritaserum or not.

"What about me. Do you love me?"

She laughed long and loudly. "How could I? Look at you, you pathetic little-"

"You do love the Dark Lord, though, do you not?"

"Yes." Bellatrix's eyes opened wide with surprise for a fleeting second, before the expression was replaced by one of abject fury. "What have you done to me?"

It was Severus's turn to smirk. "You're just feeling very honest,_ my dear_. Tell me, who is our source within the Order of the Phoenix?"

Her eyes flashed, and she started to raise her wand arm. She was slow and Severus was ready. "_Locomotor__ Mortis!_" Now paralysed, those eyes burned with hate and Severus had never felt so satisfied in his life. This woman had been his tormentor for many months, but now it was he who had complete control.

"Answer the question, Bellatrix. Who is the spy?"

Her face twitched with frustration. "I don't know," she muttered.

"What was that?"

"I don't know."

"How is it that you don't know this information?"

"He- he won't tell me."

The mission had failed, but at this point Severus no longer cared. He had seen now that Bellatrix was as weak as himself, that they were not so different after all. Once she had been like a kind of goddess or queen to Severus, a strong, cruel warrior woman. Yet she had been outwitted and overpowered. To his surprise, Severus felt a stirring within his robes. This vulnerability had highlighted just how beautiful Bellatrix was; at this moment she hated herself for spilling these secrets close to her heart—it was almost like looking in a mirror. He moved closer, wondering what else he could do. Perhaps he would ask if she ever cried. Perhaps he could make tears fall from her black eyes.

He never got the chance; he was reminded of the world outside this room by the sound of voices outside.

"I thought it was you in there, Barty." A male voice, either Rabastan or Rodolphus.

"No, it's Snape." Crouch sounded petulant, like a child denied of its favourite toy.

"Thought they'd stopped that nonsense. You should too, you're too young. She'll poison you..." It was Rodolphus.

The voices reminded Severus of what he needed to do: he must now remove all traces of this encounter. He removed another vial of potion from within his robes. This contained Sleeping Draught and a Forgetfulness Potion.

"Drink this," he snapped at Bellatrix, still helpless in the chair. She closed her mouth firmly, red lips disappearing. Severus sighed and held her nose. As she gasped, he poured the liquid down her throat. She immediately slumped back, fast asleep. Severus cast a Memory Charm for good measure, and then lifted the Body Bind curse. If she was not asleep, she would not remember their encounter and would therefore not attack Severus.

He slipped from the room, nodding to Rodolphus and Crouch, then stepped into the fireplace, back to Spinner's End.

It was only when home that he began to realise the implications of what had happened. He had failed to discover information that could save Lily's life. He felt that once again he had betrayed her: he was still attracted to Bellatrix, even after all she had done.

He bathed, experiencing a horrid mix of arousal and guilt.


	10. Chapter 10

Note: The final installment of "Poison". I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Severus's head is a strange, dark place, and I suppose I'm a little bit glad I don't have to go in there anymore!

* * *

The words swam in front of Severus's eyes, and the musty old-book odour was overwhelming. He closed it in frustration and placed it among the other discarded, useless tomes. None held the key to saving Lily: none would provide a way of discovering the spy from the Order without betraying his own position as a spy within the Death Eaters. Sighing, he rose to examine the cauldron of potion he had been brewing.

It was the rusty brown of dried blood and as each bubble burst, the escaping air sounded like screaming. This potion would cause the drinker intolerable pain and make him beg for the Crutiatus Curse; brewed exactly to the Dark Lord's specifications.

There was a time when Severus would have felt strangely proud of this brew: more subtle and effective than mere wand-waving, painstakingly created and utterly perfect. Now he did not care; he had hardly slept for months and was so tired that his whole body ached. Potions were useless, and whenever sleep finally claimed Severus, he was tormented by dreams. Sometimes they even came in the day: visions of death and scenes of writhing, naked bodies.

He was glad that he was largely autonomous in conducting his duties for his two masters; Occlumency requires a tremendous amount of mental energy, which insomnia had sapped from Severus. When speaking to the Dark Lord, it was only large doses of strong potions which could keep his mind sharp enough to avoid giving away his treachery. As for his other master, they had not met since before he had interrogated Bellatrix, many months ago. He did not have the information, so saw no point in a rendezvous.

The feeling of shame he had experienced that night still haunted him. Somehow it had opened up so many things that he had locked away in the back of his mind. For the first time, he had found himself truly digesting everything that had occurred, the nature of his relationship with Bellatrix.

And what he saw disgusted him.

At once a pitiful, weak fool and a twisted pervert.

He hated Bellatrix to almost the same magnitude reserved for James Potter. Sometimes he believed that if she were to die, he would laugh and feel that justice had finally been served. Yet at the same time, he craved the painful pleasure he gained from her body; her furious caresses, the bite of her kiss, the burn of mutual hatred firing their passion.

When Bellatrix was not in his mind, his thoughts invariably turned to Lily. By now, she must have lost the plumpness from her pregnancy from running after a little brat. Severus was unsure as to how old children were when they started walking, but he had no doubt that James's spawn would be running his poor sweet love ragged. The three would be cooped up in a hiding-place: perhaps the close proximity would lead Lily to realise what a mistake she had made!

If she survived: Severus still had no way of ensuring that. The Dark Lord had agreed to save Lily for Severus's use, but he did not trust this method, and pictured leading Lily into a life chained in the Lestrange cellar. Visions of Bellatrix tormenting his Lily would intrude into his thoughts, that cruel red mouth drawing blood from marble-smooth skin.

Invariably, it led to frantic sessions of scouring books for answers, tearing out pages and sobbing in frustration at the fruitlessness of this endeavour. There seemed to be no path ahead, just more darkness. No salvation for Lily, and perhaps no salvation for Severus. He would live out the rest of his years fucking a married woman who he hated, with the woman he loved either dead or suffering a fate worse.

It was the waiting that was the worst—he knew that it was only a matter of time until the Potters were found. _It_—whatever _it_was—would happen soon.

And Severus knew that life afterwards would be even worse.

* * *

The night of reckoning came at last. Rather fittingly, it happened on Halloween, and Severus wondered whether the Dark Lord had purposely selected this night. It would certainly fit his notions of grandeur.

The Death Eaters were gathered around the great table at the Lestrange house. A crystal goblet marked each place and in the centre was a vast quantity of bottles of red wine, corked, awaiting the Dark Lord's triumphant return. The room buzzed with excitement; it reminded Severus of King's Cross Station on his first day at school, more than ten years ago now. He looked around at his companions: Lucius Malfoy, squeezing his beautiful wife's hand; Mulciber, drunk already; Crabbe and Goyle, their expressions so vacant that Severus was unsure that they knew the reason for their presence tonight.

And at the head of the table sat Bellatrix. She looked splendid tonight, wrapped in deep purple velvet robes, her dark hair shining in the candlelight. At her throat was a vast jewel, the colour of blood. She beamed broadly, anticipating conquest tonight. Severus struggled to breathe as he was filled with both loathing and desire. To retain composure, he averted his eyes to the men surrounding her.

A Lestrange brother on either side: Rodolphus subdued, Rabastan gleeful. Behind her stood Crouch, his eyes always on Bellatrix, leaning as close as he dared to catch the scent of her hair.

Severus's stomach twisted in unbearable knots. He knew that soon the Dark Lord would enter, and news would arrive. Perhaps he would hear that Lily was dead, and his own heart would stop. Otherwise, he would enter triumphantly, dragging Lily by her gorgeous red hair, and she would be placed upon the table, stripped, broken glass breaking skin and Bellatrix cackling.

"Hear you've requested a little lady tonight," Rabastan leered, raising his empty glass at Severus. There was a moment where Severus tensed, horrified that he had not adequately closed his mind and transmitted his tortured beliefs. It passed as he reminded himself that this was a thought that was never far from Rabastan's mind—the man was a sexual deviant, and it was likely he believed no more in notions of bloody purity than Severus, only in rape and defilement.

"I remember her from school," the pervert continued. "Of course, she was only about twelve when I last saw her, but I hope she hasn't changed much." Men laughed. Severus exploded.

The next thing he knew, his wand was aimed at Rabastan and the word "_Avada_" was out of his mouth. A hand grabbed his right wrist firmly, and at the feeling of nails in his skin, Severus surrendered.

"Now, now, _Sevvy-wevvy_." Bellatrix spoke as though Severus was nothing but an errant child. "You can have her first." The words were loaded and full of menace. Their meaning was clear—there were no other options for Severus. If Lily survived, this would be her fate. A glance at her eyes revealed that malicious joy at his situation.

Yet they reminded Severus of a crucial fact, that after tonight he would have nowhere to go. The Order would collapse, and it was best that he stayed with the winning side.

"My apologies," he said silkily. "I am merely delighted by our impending victory. May the Dark Lord return swiftly."

"He's been gone a bloody long time, though, hasn't he?" Rodolphus wheezed. Every eye in the room flicked towards the great clock in response. With a start, Severus realised that four hours had passed since the Dark Lord had left, and a strange little bubble of hope began to rise within Severus. Was there some way that the Dark Lord had been defeated, and that Lily would be safe.

He had heard stories of people in love knowing instinctively when their paramour has slipped beyond the veil: an invisible cord severed.

Severus had not felt this: Lily was still ever present within his soul. Hope grew.

More hours slipped away. They were pacing now, and Mulciber had opened a bottle of the wine. Nobody would speak of the possibility that their side had lost and the Dark Lord crushed.

At last Malfoy rose, and slipped silently towards the door. By now dawn was breaking, and many were slouched in their seats, eyelids sinking.

"Where are you going?" Bellatrix barked. She was sitting bolt upright, still confident in her master's arrival.

"To find out any news. I wish, of course, to see the smoking rubble of the Potters' house. The evidence of our victory." Lucius bobbed a bow and left.

The sun now high in the sky, light penetrating even the heavy velvet curtains of the Lestrange house. Neither Lucius nor the Dark Lord returned. Every second that passed filled Severus with more optimism: Lily would live, and would not suffer at the hands of these beasts. Soon they would hear that the Dark Lord had failed due to a brave woman with hair the colour of the rising sun. She would be so joyous, that she would kiss all those who had fought alongside her... including Severus.

Another rose to search for news. Severus did not expect him to return: they were deserting now. It was coming to a close at last.

It came to a close, though not in the way Severus had hoped. The Death Eater returned, minutes later, pale and shaking.

"It's over, it's over," he muttered, "he died, the Dark Lord, he was killed. Oh, it's over, it's over."

Severus heard a scream, but did not attend to it. "And what of the Potters?" he asked urgently.

"It's all over, over for us. Confess now, say we was brainwashed or summat."

"Listen," Severus said sharply. The world around had ceased to be, his future rested upon the news from this idiot. "What became of the Potters?"

"Dead, too, except the kid. It was meant to kill him, but it's only a fuckin' baby!"

Severus groaned deeply and his knees gave way. It _was_ over. Lily was dead and he had failed to protect her. The pandemonium in the background, the cacophony of a requiem for defeat, provided a fitting backdrop for Severus's thoughts. What had happened was his fault, for he had passed on the prophecy. He would never again gaze into those eyes, for she had been entirely extinguished. There was nothing left now, no purpose to Severus's life, and for the first time he thought of ending it with a bitter poison. Until this point, he had always been eager to survive, yet to live in a world without a trace of Lily was unthinkable.

The screaming grew closer, a crescendo of pain.

His eyes finally registered Bellatrix. The jewel at her throat was ripped off, and her hands tore at her hair; her face was twisted in agony.

"You have to help me find him," she shrieked. "It's not true, it's just not true. It can't be. Help me find him, Severus."

It was like staring into a broken mirror. Bellatrix was a distorted reflection of himself: his suspicions were confirmed that Bellatrix had loved Voldemort just as he adored Lily. Both widowed by this horrible tragedy. He watched his hand, yellowish, veins bulging, shake its way towards Bellatrix's screaming face in a gesture of comfort.

It was then that everything became clear. It was not he who had killed Lily, but the Dark Lord. His love had lived her life in the hope of destroying evil, yet evil had destroyed her. Even without hearing the prophect, Voldemort would most likely have murdered her in the end because of her principles and her ancestry.

He snapped his hand back.

"No," he said sharply.

A calm had descended now, and the way forward seemed clear. He must leave this vile circle at once, for they all had Lily's blood upon their hands.

He would go to Dumbledore, for the old man would know of some way to make Lily alive again.

"Where are you going?" Bellatrix screamed. "We have to find him, the Dark Lord!"

Severus took one last glance at Bellatrix, now prostrate upon the floor, convulsing in hysterical sobs. Then he turned and walked away, his body feeling energised as the last of the poison finally left his system.


End file.
